


Friction

by scioubeez



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: And all that jazz, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fist Fights, Hate Sex, M/M, Military Inaccuracies, Miscommunication, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resentment, Sorry Not Sorry, Swearing, a whole lot of glossing over, also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scioubeez/pseuds/scioubeez
Summary: “Logical explanation.”“I'm not interested in the ones you have to offer, so I better make up my own.”The silence between them is too loud to bear: he decides to break it.
Relationships: Reiner Braun/Porco Galliard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	Friction

**Author's Note:**

> [darth vader voice] i find the lack of hate sex in this tag... Disturbing  
> this takes place a full year after reiner came back from paradis and it most definitely happened 100% canon isayama told me  
> anyway enjoy!!
> 
> beware of manga spoilers!!

Porco's eyes are going to fall out of his skull the next time he rolls them, he suspects.

Braun is something of a slow walker, dragging his boots through the mud as he leads, Porco following close behind and taking perhaps too much delight in sighing at just how _slow_ they're going, as if taking the lead himself wasn't an option. No, it's way more entertaining like this.

“Want to stop?” offers Braun, when the clouds start to get darker than anticipated, and he throws a glance at Porco when he doesn't answer. He shrugs, clearing his throat: he can save the snark for later, when he'll need it.

Setting up camp in record time, they consume their food in complete silence, as the sky starts to rumble in the distance. There's a particularly loud thunder that startles Braun, and he catches his breath, gnawing at his lower lip, his worried gaze shifting all over his hands.

Porco can't suppress the snort, and Braun looks right at him, eyes still wide just like his mother's. Porco never liked Miss Braun, too: it doesn't help that they look so alike. Except she's not growing a beard.

“Scared of thunderstorms?” he quips, dragging his words to savour his fine sarcasm. Braun snorts back, unexpectedly.

“It depends on how loud they are.”

Oh, so he can speak Porco's mother tongue. He can't help the grin that blooms slowly on his face, buying time to find the perfect answer. “Yeah, you've become a quiet one. Maybe you spouted too much bullshit when we were little, with that annoying loud voice of yours.”

Braun lets out a weird, half-assed laugh, a hoarse _hah_ that catches in his throat. “Logical explanation.”

“I'm not interested in the ones you have to offer, so I better make up my own.”

This time there's no answer, no reaction at all: Braun keeps prodding at his food, somehow too interested in it, and Porco follows his example, suddenly finding the silence between them too loud to bear.

He decides to break it letting out a loud, obnoxious belch: now _that_ gets a reaction out of Braun. He glares at him, distaste clear in his features, the spoon he's holding freezing in mid-air.

“Didn't you learn any manners,” he murmurs, setting the can aside, abandoning the last mouthful of food. Porco grins, reaching for his bag to find something to drink.

“What do you care, it's not like we've got guests.”

“It's disgusting. It stopped being funny the second time someone ever did it.”

“So now you care about table manners.”

Braun stands up way too fast, distaste clear in the way his spine goes rigid. “Drop it, Galliard,” he sighs then, reaching into his bag and looking for something, as Porco keeps drinking from his bottle, unfazed, gulping down water loudly much to Braun's irritation.

They settle for the night without exchanging words, and Porco makes a point to turn his back to Braun as he closes his eyes.

The first lights of the morning perk up at the horizon, dawn breaking through a cloudy night that left Porco and Braun chilled to the bone. They started moving a couple of hours before, their pace growing faster as soon as they found solid ground, finally abandoning the muddy nightmare of the day before. The target sits right at the horizon, a lone, apparently abandoned military base that was once in Marley's possession: as war broke out in the last year, it was conquered by the middle-eastern nations, allowing them to prod at Marley's side with fast, continuous attacks, something they can't ignore any longer.

Porco had just opened his mouth to talk back during their briefing, a few days before their departure, because he just _had_ to tell them that he found their plan stupid: the idea of sending two Warriors on their own to walk the long way around and surprise the small army currently occupying the base was nothing short of idiotic. As soon as he started talking, Braun had interrupted him, setting his hands down on the map, the only Warrior in the room daring to do so, as the Marleyan officers on the other side of the table glared at him with distaste. He'd pointed out some of the countless obvious flaws in their plan, and Porco ran a hand through his hair, noticing just how entertained Commander Magath seemed to be at Braun's interjection.

It wasn't the first time that Braun stopped him just short of saying stupid things, and they did punish Warriors for less than that, in the past. Porco supposes that's why they all strongly disliked Braun, what with his status of being almost stripped of his Titan and all.

Porco, instead, could choose not to wear that dumb uniform everyday. And no one ever told him he was about to lose his Titan to a seven year-old child, either.

“Clear,” croaks Braun, his throat not used to talking after so many hours of complete silence. Porco perks up.

“What, just like that? You're a hawk now?”

They're crouching side by side, and Braun shoots him an amused look. Porco can see how his beard has grown now, crowning his upper lip and having just reached down his jawline. “I'll have you know that they've got mighty fine instructors on that island. I've learned from the best.”

Porco dissimulates his surprise, still not used to hearing Braun paying compliments to the islanders: it's something he saves for when they're not in danger of people eavesdropping on them, and even then it's very rare. “And what did they teach you?”

Braun basks in Porco's curiosity for a few seconds, a shit-eating grin perking up on his face, and Porco clears his throat for no reason at all. “Have you noticed the lack of tracks around the tower's entrance?”

Porco squints to look at the tower's tall, wooden door, and the sandy terrain around it: as Braun says, there's no trace at all. “Yeah... but they could have hidden them.”

“Good soldier,” murmurs Braun, having perhaps too much fun with this: Porco draws his brows together. “That's exactly what they did. They're all hidden inside, waiting for someone to strike. They also know we're here, so it might be a bit difficult to get in.”

“Huh. Now you're talking bullshit,” snorts Porco, but Braun's stupid smirk doesn't fall off his equally stupid face. “How could they know?”

“They _did_ clear their tracks. You wouldn't do that if no one was coming.”

Porco snorts, again, but this time he's positively taken aback: Braun does have some brains in his stupid round head, after all. He supposes Pieck wasn't being overly kind when she told him about his competence, after their shared missions in the last couple of months.

“Yeah, ten points for you. So what's the plan?”

Braun's smirk resurfaces, just on one side of his mouth, and Porco's lips part ever so slightly against his will, again for no reason. He must be coming down with something. “Good question. They don't know we're Titans, so we can use that to our advantage.”

“Yeah, if Zeke were here he could throw us on top of that tower and save us time.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, Braun answers, seemingly taken aback. Was it the mention of the War Chief? They never seemed to get along, for some reason. Porco liked Zeke, though. “He's not here, so we have to improvise.”

“You could transform and throw me, if you've got decent aim, that is.”

Braun clicks his tongue. “I'm not much of a baseball player.”

“So we're stumped?” Porco admits it to himself, he's having a bit too much fun right now. He likes going on missions with Pieck and Zeke, but this one with Braun is not bad, too, if he pretends to forget what he's done anyway.

It doesn't last very long, though. He can't help it.

“To hell with that,” spits Braun, and he starts crawling to the side, his gaze darting left and right in search of a safe path to follow. Porco follows him, matching his pace immediately, finding Braun's frustration way too entertaining.

“You've got a plan now?”

“No,” he answers simply, and Porco would laugh out loud if it were anyone else. Now he's just annoyed.

“What the fuck, Braun,” he hisses, matching his increasing speed as they crawl even faster towards the tower, half-hidden behind the ruins of wrecked walls that protected the lone tower some centuries ago. “What the fuck do you think we're doing? We're improvising now?”

“Yeah,” he answers again, not paying enough attention to Porco, whose irritation keeps growing, just like the volume of his voice.

“If Pieck or Zeke were here there'd be a plan, we would know what to do! You're just charging in there like a headless chicken, and you think you're a Warrior? No wonder they all hate your guts back home!”

Braun hesitates, then he stops: Porco glares at him, upper lip curled in frustration, and to his surprise Braun glares back, eyebrows resting low on his eyes, full lips drawn together, tight with tension.

The sun now rests higher in the sky, the temperature rising by the minute, and Porco normally would tug at the collar of his uniform, but now he finds he can't move, as if Braun's glare was freezing him in place. There's a particular shade of the whites of his eyes that Porco can recognize very well, like seeing his own reflection in a mirror: Braun is hurt, and not by Porco's words. It's a special kind of hurt that runs deeper, that rests in the back of his throat and simmers and grows with time, trying to choke him from the inside when he least expects it.

It's something he doesn't deserve, he thinks: it's not like his brother was eaten by a Titan to protect someone who should have never been chosen in the first place. What does he have to suffer for?

“What the fuck are you looking at,” he spits, “get going.”

“Now you're giving orders,” spits back Braun, “go on then, have it your way,” though his words don't cut like they should. Porco would feel pity if his hands weren't already full with hatred.

“Shut up and follow me,” he grumbles, crawling past Braun and leading the way.

A couple of teeth shoot out of the soldier's mouth as Porco kicks him in the jaw, though he can't feel anything anymore. “Just making sure,” he grumbles, tapping the tip of his boot on the ground to shake some of the blood off it.

“What are you doing,” huffs Braun, coming through the door, visibly exhausted: the Titan marks on his face are still fresh, and there's steam coming out of his side where muscle tissue and skin are slowly fusing back together. “They're all dead, I've checked.”

“Do you want me to say sorry?” quips Porco, turning his back to him to look out the window. He would kill for something to drink: his throat is so dry it could catch fire if he talked any louder. “How long until they're here to back us up?”

He can almost feel Braun's clueless shrug from behind him. “Could be hours. I doubt they expect us to be done already.”

“Better kill time until then,” concludes Porco, turning back around and sitting down with a huff, just now realising how tired he is. “Found something to drink?”

Braun grimaces. “In here?”

Porco imitates him mockingly, then adds, “what do you care? They're not going to mind. They're dead.”

There's a flash of _something_ that passes through Braun's features, for a second: but it's gone as soon as Porco spots it. “I haven't found anything,” he answers then, defeated.

“You didn't even look for it.”

“Go do it yourself then,” spits Braun, and Porco's eyes widen at his words, the harshness of his voice straightening his back.

“I think I will,” he answers, getting back up. Braun keeps glaring at him as he walks past, and Porco stops before walking out of the room, returning his gaze.

“What do you want,” he murmurs, raising his chin to look him directly in the eye. Braun might be taller, and broader, but Porco has never once bitten off more than he can chew: he's not afraid of a confrontation if it were to happen here and now.

“I want you to take it seriously,” is Braun's prompt answer, to which Porco grimaces immediately.

“I _am_ taking things seriously. I take them seriously all the fucking time. You think I have fun doing this?”, he barks, gesturing to the room, filled with blood and splattered guts and corpses. “Well, I don't, I hate it, but a mission is a mission, so _fuck you-_ ”

“I couldn't care less about any of that,” interjects Braun, his eyes growing wider just like they did when he was a child, constantly spitting out the bullshit he was fed by everyone: his voice grows louder, and louder, his answer morphing into aggression, “if you really hate me so much then act like you mean it, instead of half-assing everything all the time!”

So that's his problem? Porco can't even being to think how much he's angry right now, but it must be an awful lot judging by how deep his nails are digging into his palms.

“Who even cares about you?”

“You do,” spits Braun, and now Porco sees _red_ , “so stop it.”

His hands grab Braun's shirt before he can even finish talking, fists clenching the fabric tightly as if they could rip it into shreds: Porco pushes with his full weight against Braun, taking him by surprise, cornering him against the wall as he grabs Porco's wrists, trying to shrug him off. He's as strong as he looks, so Porco has a hard time with keeping him pinned to the wall: he thrusts forward with his lower body, hips slamming into Braun's, a grunt escaping his lips as he blocks him, then he raises his elbows sideways, digging them into Braun's shoulders, but his arms are longer and he reaches around to grab at Porco's collar, almost tearing the fabric off as he pushes him back to free his lower body.

Nothing a well-aimed punch to the jaw can't fix: in a heartbeat, Porco tears a hand off Braun's shirt and closes his fist, but Braun is faster and grabs his wrist just as he's about to strike, so tightly that Porco swears right in his face, a few drops of spit landing square on his cheek. Now it's Braun who blocks him, grabbing both his wrists, but Porco retaliates in a split second, his knee hitting Braun's side hard where his skin is still healing, skin and muscle tissue breaking again with the impact, and he doubles down, coughing and holding his side, steam coming out thicker than before.

Porco kicks his other side, and Braun rolls to the ground on his back, swearing again, his eyes squeezed shut in pain: Porco climbs on his waist, sitting on him and grabbing his collar roughly, some buttons of his shirt flying off as he tugs at it, making Braun's head slam back into the ground, so hard it starts steaming immediately.

“You still suck at this, you can't do anything right, anything at all,” growls Porco, words catching in his dry throat, knuckles turning white with how much strength he's tugging and pulling at Braun's shirt. All he gets in answer is another pained, angry glare, right from underneath him, as if Braun could still put up a fight, like the persistent cockroach he is.

“And you're the same, aren't you,” he growls back, an edge to his voice that makes Porco's heart skip a beat: Braun grabs both his wrists, hard, trying to tear his hands away from him as he hisses, “all you do is talk, but you've got no teeth to bite with.”

Porco clenches his teeth so hard his whole head shakes, rage rippling through his whole body as he fights back to free himself from Braun, hands never leaving the grasp on his tattered shirt.

 _I'll show you just how hard I can bite_ , he thinks, as he sits back straighter on Braun's hips, readying himself to elbow him in the ribs, but something happens as he shifts to the side, both of them gasping as Porco's groin brushes against the inside of Braun's upper thigh.

Adrenaline runs through Porco, mixing in with anger and resentment and the sheer desire to punch that stupid stubble off Braun's square jaw: he shakes his hands off, and another button of Braun's shirt flies off, making it fall open on his heaving chest. Porco finds himself out of breath too, as he plants both hands at the sides of Braun's head, and lifts his hips just enough to slam them back down on Braun's groin, now eliciting another gasp from him and him alone, his full lips falling open in surprise.

“What,” he pants, both arms resting down at his sides, limp and stupid-looking. Porco grimaces his way around a smirk, for no reason, again, and grinds harder on Braun's hips, wider than his waist, which is much narrower than his shoulders, a passing observation that makes Porco's head spin.

“What, _what_?” he hisses, grinding again, as Braun's head falls to the side, his eyes almost closing, lips trembling ever so slightly. He grows underneath Porco's hips, and soon he finds himself growing, too, the friction between them too enticing to stop.

Porco doesn't even try to explain to himself just what the hell is he doing: now Braun, _Reiner's_ hands are grabbing at his hips, trying to control the pressure and direction of his movements, but Porco's having none of it. He's quick, catching Reiner's wrists and tearing them off him, and bites back a groan at the glare Reiner throws him, full of _want_.

Wordlessly, they both fumble with the buttons of their trousers, shrugging out of them just enough to grab each other's length. Reiner writhes beneath him, head falling to the opposite side, Porco's grasp rough and demanding. He pushes up into his hand, groaning as it falls back down against his sack, rough and fast and hard.

“Move that hand,” orders Porco, frustrated at Reiner's lack of action, though he has to suppress a moan as Reiner's open palm runs up his length, at the way he thumbs at his tip and his fingers close around his length, holding him tighter on the downstroke: now it's Porco who stops, shuddering in time with Reiner's ministrations, his back arching more and more the faster he goes.

“ _You_ move that damn hand,” rasps Reiner, hips pushing up expectantly with a force that almost shakes Porco off him, and Porco does just that, supporting himself on a trembling arm, hand still planted at the side of Reiner's head, their groans growing louder the closer they get.

It's over in a few seconds: Reiner squeezes his eyes shut, upper lip drawn up in what almost looks like a grimace, head bobbing up and down in time with Porco's relentless strokes. He throws it back, then, fully exposing his throat, sweat pooling between his collarbones, chest heaving faster from under his torn shirt, as a wet, breathy moan escapes his open mouth, and Porco suddenly feels his hand warm and sticky, not daring to look down at it.

He does look at Reiner's partly uncovered stomach shortly after, though, as he lets out a string of moans and expletives, emptying himself on him.

“Gross,” is what Reiner chooses to say, his voice hoarse in all the right ways, and Porco feels himself tingle all over. “That's gross...”

He can't quite process what just happened.

“You are gross,” he bites back, unconvincing, as he tucks himself inside with a grimace, trying not to use his sticky hand too much. “How am I supposed to wash this off?”

Reiner is not looking at him: his eyes are closed, head lolling to the side. He shrugs, lips parted open, the short hair on his forehead either sticking down on sweaty skin or standing up in all directions. Porco takes a deep breath, then looks down at him, and tucks him back as well, without saying anything.

“Thanks,” rasps Reiner then, his voice lower. It's Porco's turn to shrug, and he stands up on wobbly legs, not helping Reiner- _Braun_ , not helping Braun with standing up, he can do it by himself, thank you very much.

“You're not telling anyone about this,” he spits, wiping his hand on the leg of his trousers the best he can.

Braun offers a tired smirk, the late afternoon light coming in from the window making him look impossibly handsome- though Porco would never admit it. He's just tired and confused, that's all. “What's the problem with that?”

“Fuck knows,” spits Porco, turning his back to him, walking away on unsteady legs.

He can't hear whatever Braun has to say, because he's already going down the stairs, trying to find something, anything to drink before his throat starts hurting again.

**Author's Note:**

> i love them so much. my poor babies  
> thank you all for reading :*


End file.
